


the venn diagram of fun decisions and bad decisions can be a circle if you try hard enough

by ThatsrightZoeyeyye



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Holy Musical B@man - Team StarKid, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Enemies to Lovers, Kinda, M/M, Oh, Party Games, Trans Male Character, almost forgot aozrherheou, bc i said so and this is a present for nov so, idk what to tag actually, trans! bruce wayne, trans! clark kent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:35:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29807118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatsrightZoeyeyye/pseuds/ThatsrightZoeyeyye
Summary: He is currently at a party, hosted by Bruce Wayne (he doesn’t think he has emphasised this point in his brain enough. He is at a party hosted by Bruce Wayne, of all people! Who walked up to him at the end of their molecular physics final on Tuesday and asked him personally if he was interested in a small basement party).Bruce Wayne is rather good looking. Not that Clark looks at him a lot, that would be a bit weird, but he has noticed. He notices things, it’s nothing big. He also noticed that Bruce has a really nice voice that reminds him of someone else he knows, but he isn’t quite sure who. He also noticed that he’s absolutely terrible at molecular physics. And also really nice. A bit moody, but he won’t blame him.And he is currently asking if anyone wants to play truth or dare.(or - Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne go to the same university, and they are both trans)
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	the venn diagram of fun decisions and bad decisions can be a circle if you try hard enough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [swordfaery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swordfaery/gifts).



> disclaimer: i know. pretty much nothing about batman or superman. the only dc content i have ever consumed is a starkid parody. which is why they're tagged in the fandom category. this is a present for november, who loves superbat a lot, so i decided i would try my hand at writing characters i don't know at all. this is most probably painfully ooc  
> @november: im sorry im almost four months late. i love you a lot!! mwuah
> 
> prompt: party games from the starkid writes server

Clark Kent wouldn’t describe himself as a stupid man. He is, in fact, rather smart, objectively. His glasses give him a smart look, but he firmly believes that his brains are also on the smart side.

Which is why he is confused by his current situation.

Admittedly, maybe going to a “fun” party with a lot of alcohol, poor resistance to alcohol and a secret identity, hasn’t been his brightest idea. Still, he is a lonely person, and Bruce Wayne organised the party, and Bruce Wayne is quite good looking, and he thought he would be fine.

Bruce Wayne is also a transgender man, just like him. Clark remembers being 15, seeing a newspaper headline reading “Wayne fortune heir announces she is a man” and getting very upset. He came out to his family that day.

Clark isn’t sure whether or not Bruce knows he is trans as well. Bruce is very vocal about it, upset as he is about social justice, but Clark tends to be more low-key. He’s not exactly hiding it, but no one has ever asked. He’s still got some discreet trans colours on his backpack, which he is fairly certain Bruce has seen.

Clark and Bruce haven’t ever really talked, though.

Nevertheless, Clark is now sitting on his couch, somewhere between tipsy and passed out drunk (he isn’t very good at telling where he falls exactly on that spectrum), and his glasses are nowhere to be found. Not that he really made a lot of effort to look for them, but his head aches quite a bit and he squinted at the wall for some time, and the glasses weren’t there, so, well.

The problem is that his glasses are kind of, well, the only thing that can really hide his secret identity. It has worked wonders for him so far. Without the glasses, he is Superman, America’s favourite superhero. With his glasses, he is Clark Kent, respectable university student, smart looking and good with the ladies. And the gents. Not that that last part is widely known.

He is currently at a party, hosted by Bruce Wayne (he doesn’t think he has emphasised this point in his brain enough. He is at a party hosted by Bruce Wayne, of all people! Who walked up to him at the end of their molecular physics final on Tuesday and asked him personally if he was interested in a small basement party).

(“hey, uh, Clark right? - yep, Clark, that’s my name! Clark is me, and I am Clark, haha - cool cool, I, uh, I’m organising a small basement party with some of the guys here. Nothing fancy, it’s just some games and too much alcohol to celebrate the end of finals week. Wanna come?”)

Bruce Wayne is rather good looking. Not that Clark looks at him a lot, that would be a bit weird, but he has noticed. He notices things, it’s nothing big. He also noticed that Bruce has a really nice voice that reminds him of someone else he knows, but he isn’t quite sure who. He also noticed that he’s absolutely terrible at molecular physics. And also really nice. A bit moody, but he won’t blame him.

And he is currently asking if anyone wants to play truth or dare.

“What are we? Twelve year old girls?” shouts some guy on the other side of the room.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than make fun of girls for everything?” Bruce retorts, “fuck you, Brent. If you keep this up you’re getting the crush question.”

Brent tries to say something and his couch neighbour throws a pillow in his face. Clark smiles.

They do end up picking truth or drink instead.

All of this kind of distracts him from the most pressing matter of his fucking glasses. He doesn’t think anyone here ever saw Superman and would recognise him, especially in this attire (the old grey hoodie and discoloured jeans kind of differ from the blue and red look), but he doesn’t exactly want to risk it. Which is why the next lines of dialogue make him a bit anxious:

“Hey, Brent,” Bruce says, “since when do you wear glasses?”

“You don’t wear glasses dude,” some other guy tells Brent.

“I stole them from Clark earlier, he didn’t even notice, fucking nerd,” Brent says.

Clark, for understandable reasons, starts panicking a little. The whole “fucking nerd” thing business doesn’t bother him. He was the target of bullies for a pretty solid chunk of his childhood, he’s pretty desensitised by now. The whole “glasses aren’t on his nose and his secret superhero identity is at risk of being revealed while he’s drunk in a basement” business is more upsetting.

Bruce simply rolls his eyes and extends his hand towards Brent. Brent stares at him with a silly little brat look. Clark hopes he wasn’t trying to look cool and feels embarrassed on his behalf. Bruce raises an eyebrow. Brent hands him the glasses.

Clark thinks this all looked really cool.

Bruce turns to him, half a smile on his face (a rare occurrence, and it makes him look rather charming), and hands him his glasses.

He frowns, for a second. Not in anger, but in that distinct look of confused half-recognition that Clark knows and hates.

He freezes.

He doesn’t think Bruce has ever seen him as Superman. He would have recognised him, probably, if he’d had to save him and carry him out of a burning building. Not that he’s thought about carrying him out of a burning building, of course (of course!), that would be ridiculous.

The moment passes quickly. Clark takes a hold of his glasses and puts them on his face. Bruce looks away. Some guy asks Brent the first truth or drink question. The room didn’t, in fact, freeze in awe and anticipation as Clark and Bruce locked eyes.

Clark is once again hit by the sour realisation that nobody knows that he is the main character.

The game is pretty boring, mostly because he doesn’t know anyone well. Someone asks Bruce something vaguely related to sex, and he answers in a bored, monotone voice.

He turns to Clark.

“Alright Kent,” he says, “truth or drink. What’s your biggest secret?”

It doesn’t sound like a question. Bruce’s voice remains steady, like it’s a command. Clark doesn’t like lying. He doesn’t want to lie. He considers drinking.

“I stole my mum’s alcohol once when I was fifteen,” he lies.

He’s never stolen anyone’s alcohol. He’s never stolen anything at all. It sounds like something the others would find cool, though.

Bruce looks unimpressed, which Clark guesses is better than if he’d stood up, pointed at him and screamed “no! you are Superman in disguise and are spreading lies, you dishonest heathen!” Or maybe “bitch you’re trans”, but he trusts him to know not to do that.

The game goes on and people get bored. They are particularly unimaginative. Someone asks Bruce if he prefers Superman or Batman and he picks Batman without even thinking.

“That was fast,” a guy (Jack?) comments, “got a crush?”

Bruce snorts.

“I just fucking hate Superman,” he snaps, “arrogant prick.”

Clark will admit that it hurts a bit.

“Superman would easily beat Batman in a fight though,” Clark mumbles to his beer, and Bruce looks insulted.

“I’d love to see that happen,” Bruce snorts.

“Kin drama,” Karl (?) interrupts in a sing-songy voice, and Clark doesn’t know whether he should laugh or panic. Bruce shoves him off the couch.

“I don’t kin Superman,” Clark says, and it’s not a lie, so he’s proud of it, “Bruce does give off Batman kinnie vibes, though.”

He desperately hopes he’s using the vocabulary correctly and isn’t stepping out of line.

Bruce looks like he’s enjoying an inside joke with only himself, and Clark thinks, for a second, that maybe he is Batman. It’s ridiculous, though, so he pushes the thought away. He doesn’t need to project his secret identity stuff on other people.

He’s still a bit upset. It’s not that he’s had dreams of Bruce Wayne being a secret Superman fan or anything, but he still wouldn’t have guessed him a Batman fan. Maybe it’s gender envy? Clark will admit that Batman gives him gender envy.

The game goes on during Clark’s very important internal turmoil. Eventually, Brent turns to him, looking like he’s had several drinks too much.

“Clarkie-boy,” he slurs, “ever kissed a dude?”

Clark figures he might as well be honest, and nods. Brent looks like he would loudly gasp if he had enough strength for such a sudden movement.

“Why, you’re interested?” he says, trying to take the attention off of himself. He does love attention, but not that kind.

Brent doesn’t answer the question.

“Didn’t you date that Lois chick last year?” he asks instead

“Ever heard of bisexuality, Brent?” Bruce interrupts.

Brent looks mildly confused, but Clark can’t tell if it’s because of the words or because of who said them.

“I’m bi,” Karl blurts out, unprompted, from where he’s slouched on a lonely armchair.

“Same,” Clark and Bruce answer at the same time.

They share a brief look, a nod. Brent looks like he’s accidentally completely tuned out of the conversation.

“I think it might be time for bed,” Bruce sighs.

Clark checks his phone. It’s 3 am. He thought it would last longer.

“I’m going to get everyone water and stuff for the morning,” Bruce says, standing up, “feel free to crash on the couch. Make sure no one goes off driving.”

Some guy announces that he hasn’t drunk all night and will drive some of the guys home. In the end, Clark is left alone with only one other guy, who he thinks is named Dan, and they’re both already falling asleep.

* * *

He wakes up too early when Dan starts gathering his things.

“Bruce is in the kitchen with breakfast if you want,” he informs him as he stuffs his jacket in his backpack, looking exhausted but still very awake.

“What time is it?” Clark asks.

“Eight thirty or something. I have work at nine, can’t sleep in.”

“Good luck, man.”

Dan salutes him half mindedly and makes his way out, yawning.

Clark reaches for his glasses and frowns. They are not on his face. He knows for a fact that he left them there before falling asleep, unwilling to risk his secret identity twice in the same day.

He finds them next to a glass of water. He puts the glasses on hastily, drinks the water, and makes his way out of the basement in search of the kitchen. Of course Bruce Wayne had to live in a fucking manor.

Finally, he finds the kitchen. Bruce is reading the newspaper looking vaguely upset. An old man is standing by the stove, cooking eggs. He raises his head and smiles when he notices Clark.

“Ah, Mr. Kent,” he exclaims, “you’re awake. I see you’ve drank that water. Very good. I took the liberty of taking off your glasses this morning, I hope you don’t mind. I wouldn’t want you to damage them in your sleep. Would you like some eggs?”

“I wouldn’t want to be a bother,” he starts muttering.

“Nonsense,” the man interrupts him, “you’re a guest, I can fix you up with some breakfast with no trouble. Bruce, why don’t you say good morning to your guest.”

Bruce lifts his gaze from his newspaper briefly, nods at him with a brief, forced smile, brings his attention back to his reading.

Clark sits down, hesitantly grabs an apple and bites into it. It’s a really good apple. Soon enough, two plates of scrambled eggs and bacon are placed on the table and the old man exits the room.

Bruce sets down the newspaper and grabs a fork with unreasonable force.

“So,” Clark starts awkwardly, “was that your dad or something?”

“Nope,” Bruce says, “parents are dead. Alfred is dad’s friend and also my butler.”

Clark hates that he ever learnt how to speak. He would probably know that if he’d read a newspaper or something.

“Sorry about the parents,” he mumbles.

Bruce shrugs brusquely, slams eggs into his mouth.

“Anything interesting on the news?” Clark tries again.

“Bank robbery,” Bruce answers, “Superman wasn’t there.”

He’s looking directly into his eyes, and it feels a bit too pointed to be casual.

“And Batman?” Clark asks.

Bruce shakes his head.

“Green lantern showed up a little late and did some good apparently,” he says, “bad guys still got a lot of money.”

Clark eats some eggs and tries not to feel guilty.

* * *

“This is bullshit,” Batman says, sounding bewildered and angry and some other stuff that Clark frankly doesn’t have time to decipher.

He is still struggling to really understand how he ended up in this situation.

Bad guys attacked the city council. Clark took off to help. Batman was already there. They did some cool superhero stuff, and then the bad guys went and dropped a whole building on the both of them. Batman managed to drag them both down with him, tied them up and went to check on Superman.

Clark is half stuck under some rubble, which he’s escaping from with minimal effort. He’s mostly pissed that he didn’t get to tie the two bad guys up himself.

Batman is looking at him from behind his mask.

“Clark Kent?” he says smugly, “I knew it was you. I can’t believe you think glasses are an acceptable disguise.”

Clark freezes. There are probably many good and smart decisions he could be taking now, but instead he shuts his mouth and stares at Batman, who apparently knows him from somewhere.

He knows that the only time anyone has ever seen him without his glasses on since he moved to Gotham City is at that party Bruce Wayne hosted a few months ago. He hasn’t seen any of them since, what with summer break starting and everything. In fact, the first day of the new year is next week.

That leaves about a dozen half-drunk guys who could have possibly remembered him.

“Brent?” is his first guess, because Brent is fucking stupid and he desperately hopes that it’s not him and needs to get it out of the way.

Batman looks upset.

“I’ll be honest my ego is a little hurt.”

That’s when Clark realises. Maybe it’s the voice, he thinks. The man really has a nice voice.

“Bruce?” he tries again, and Batman freezes.

“As you can see, I am not a Batman kinnie then.”

Clark thinks it is funnier than a simple “yes”, so he laughs. He is so very tired. Buildings falling on him are a regular occurrence, but it’s always unpleasant.

He finally completely frees himself from the rubble. Bruce offers him a hand and he takes it, pushing himself up until he’s standing in front of the man.

“Do you really think I’m an arrogant prick though?” he asks, sounding amused but very much to hide the hurt.

“You have magic powers to do the job,” Bruce answers, “I had to work to do what I do.”

Clark sighs.

“There’s probably something to be said about wealth hoarding and opportunities in life,” he retorts.

Bruce doesn’t say anything, nods brusquely in some sort of reluctant admission.

“Is this the part where I play the trans card?”

“I can play it as well,” Clark snorts, “any other cards?”

“Parents got murdered in front of my very eyes as a child?”

“I have magic powers which alienate me from humanity, and the moment I fuck up I will no longer be the hero and instead the monster that should never have been trusted or loved?”

Bruce puts his hands on his waist.

“That’s a good one.”

“I know, right?”

Bruce chuckles lightly, and Clark feels very satisfied.

“Anyway,” he says, “does that mean that Gotham’s two favourite superheroes are trans?”

“Bold of you to think you’re on the list of Gotham’s favourites.”

Clark gasps theatrically.

“You wound me!”

“Your suffering amuses me,” Bruce answers, smiling playfully.

“I still can’t believe I’ve had duels and fights with Bruce Wayne,” Clark says.

“I didn’t think that Superman would turn out to be the cute guy in my molecular physics class, yet here we are.”

Clark is not sure how to process this statement.

“Aren’t you also in my computing class?” he asks instead.

“I skipped most of it,” Bruce answers, “I don’t need computing 101, I’m Batman.”

“You left me to be the only cute guy in the class,” Clark jokes, hoping it sounds vaguely like flirting, “do you have any idea of the burden you put on my shoulders?”

Bruce smiles. It looks strange with the mask on.

“Maybe we’ll have more classes together this semester,” he says, “see you then, I’m afraid I have to leave now.”

And with that, Bruce salutes him and leaves.

And Clark is left to handle the bad guys.


End file.
